Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis came up with Narnia. Disney and Walden Media came up with the theatrical rendition. Was I involved in either? Not at all.
Trailer by Jesus'girl4ever (thanks bunches!):
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"You're welcome."
"I had it sorted."
He was no child. He'd been a king – magnificent and great. Protector of his family, leader of a nation. And yet… that was gone. How could anyone – especially his own siblings – expect him to be a normal boy after Narnia? Even after a year, he was still not used to being treated as a kid: he demanded respect. No one seemed to understand. Ever-practical Susan lectured about accepting that they were back in pokey old England. Matter-of-fact Edmund had readjusted to being a schoolboy. Lucy… she wordlessly comforted him, but who knew what was running through her mind?
"Ow!"
"Quiet, Lu."
"Something pinched me."
"Let go of me!"
"I'm not touching you."
He felt a strange tug on his arm. Then came the strong wind as the train zipped past at an abnormal rate. He had the oddest feeling in his gut, though he knew not what it was. They joined hands as the subway dissipated into a beach-side cave. The salty tang tickled his nose and the sun warmed him to the core. The water was oh-so-refreshing and for the first time in a long while, he smiled and sincerely laughed.
"Where do you suppose we are?"
"Well, where do you think?"
"I don't remember any ruins in Narnia."
Ruins on the cliff captured his attention. He'd been so sure he'd come home to Narnia, but he recalled no crumbled rock. They climbed up to the ruinous cliffs to explore the off-white stones. He tried to imagine what sort of structure used to stand there, but he couldn't think of anything that jogged his memory. Then Lucy grabbed his hand.
"Don't you see?"
"What?"
"Imagine walls, and columns there, and a glass roof."
It opened his eyes: he stood on the foundation of his kingdom. He remembered Cair Paravel in all its glory; to see it in its present state smote him to the heart. His home – his country – had been attacked. A surge of determination rose within him: Narnia had failed and it was time for the Magnificent from the high past to take matters into his own hands and make things right in the land he loved.
...
"Aslan? It's Aslan! It's Aslan over there! Don't you see, he's right… there."
"Do you see Him now?"
"I'm not crazy. He was there. He wanted us to follow Him."
"I'm sure there are any number of lions in this wood. Just like that bear."
Lucy had been eager to meet a bear that she thought was a Talking Bear. It had turned out to be wild, and hungry at that. What was to prevent there being a lion in a similar situation? Lucy had been wrong about the bear, so maybe she was wrong about this too.
"I think I know Aslan when I see Him."
"Why wouldn't I have seen Him?"
"Maybe you weren't looking."
It wouldn't make sense that Aslan would appear for a second, then disappear. Why would He hide from them? If He really wanted them to follow Him, surely he would have made that clearer… if He was there at all to begin with.
...
"He must know what He's doing."
He watched his sister reverently lay her hand on the broken Stone Table. He felt a tug at his heart but he ignored it. Then he raised his eyes to the engraving on the wall beyond the Table. He didn't loathe the image, but something about it hardened him. The rock eyes seemed to bore into his soul, calling him… to what? But no.
"I think it's up to us now."
Of course it was. He certainly hadn't seen Aslan when Lucy claimed to have. True, they made it across the gorge and to Aslan's How where Caspian was fortressed. But he still had no proof that the Lion had been where Lucy had claimed to see Him. Where was Aslan now? Not here, that was for certain. If He whom the image portrayed wasn't there for Narnia, who else would be?
...
"We're all acting like there's only two options: dying here or dying there."
"I'm not sure you've really been listening, Lu."
"No, you're not listening. Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?"
What did the White Witch have to do with any of this? She was a powerful force; the Telmarines didn't hold a candle to her. It made sense that a Powerful Force defeated another powerful force, but couldn't simple folk take care of other simple folk? This was a matter of arms, strength, and strategy, not high powers. He knew what she was talking about. Who she was talking about. But since He was out of the picture, there was only one answer he could give.
"I think we've waited for Aslan long enough."
...
"Peter! It's too late. We have to call it off while we can!"
"No, I can still do this!"
He was determined. No foul-up in his plan was going to make him give up. He was confident in his capabilities. So what if Miraz escaped from the room and the whole castle was crawling with enemies? His troops could handle it. Sheer will would pull them – him – through.
"Exactly who are you doing this for, Peter?"
He glared at her. How dare she ask? He was a king. He did everything for the sake of his country, did he not? He was here to rid Narnia of tyrannous invaders, was he not? Not only that, but he had rallied the troops together for this raid – he had stepped in when the Narnians' leadership proved weak, had he not? The troops poured in through the gate and he drew his own sword. He answered his sister's disapproval with his familiar battle cry.
"For Narnia!"
But even as the words passed his lips, deep in his heart, he knew it was a lie. Still, he yielded his conscience to believe that his façade was the real him, that he truly was doing this for his country. He bent his concentration on the battle. One by one, his noble subjects fell around him. Edmund saved him from an archer, but did he survive the onslaught of arrows aimed at him? The satyr Tyrus made a bold move for Miraz but was thwarted. Trumpkin tumbled from a tower. Asterius the minotaur held up the closing gate. The Narnians were failing – he was failing. There was no chance of survival unless they retreated. Asterius lifted the gate to let him through but expired immediately after. Those who had not made it through were stopped and he could only look back helplessly. Tears stung his eyes. His choices hounded him and he wished he had chosen otherwise. He realized that he was not the only one suffering loss as Glenstorm exchanged final glances with one of his sons. He would have stayed, done anything possible to aid his valiant warriors, but the closing of the drawbridge forced him away. The last he heard from those doomed to die was a failing strain:
"For Aslan!"
...
"You could have called it off: there was still time."
"No there wasn't thanks to you. If you'd kept to the plan, those soldiers might be alive right now."
"And if you'd stayed here like I suggested they definitely would be!"
He didn't need reminding. The pain of the failed assault was bound to haunt him for a very long time. He wasn't going to forget, not if he lived to be a hundred. He didn't need some upstart Telmarine prince to tell him what he already knew. His only comfort was to place the blame – or even share it – with someone else.
"You called us, remember?"
"My first mistake."
"No; your first mistake was thinking you could ever lead these people."
He'd led Narnia a millennium ago; he knew what he was doing. He was still king. A Narnian king, crowned by Aslan himself. And no Telmarine was going to take that from him.
"I'm not the one who abandoned Narnia."
"You invaded Narnia. You have no more right to be here than Miraz does. You, him, your father. Narnia's better off without the lot of you!"
It was true, wasn't it? Only a fool wouldn't see that an invader of any kind did not belong on the throne. And if all Telmarines were as proud as this one here, they weren't any sort of leaders to be followed. He ignored the hypocrisy of his thought as the two drew swords, ready to defend their honour. They were interrupted but that did not calm their raw nerves. Caspian marched into the How without a word.
...
"One drop of Adam's blood, and you'll free me. Then I am yours, my king."
From whence came the icy semblance of the White Witch, he knew not. Nor did he care. All that mattered was that Caspian was reaching out to free the enchanting form.
"Stop!"
He led the charge into the sacred room. Edmund battled the werewolf; Trumpkin and Lucy took care of Nikabrik. He himself went for the hag. The Witch beckoned Caspian closer. He shoved the prince aside, stepping into the icy ring as he did so. He confronted the enemy from the past. She drew her hand back and locked his eyes on hers. She reached out again. His resolve wavered.
"Come, just one drop. You know you can't do this alone."
Her cool voice stabbed his pride yet soothed the pain with glazed-over reassurances. He knew it was true. More than true. Up till now, he'd tried everything by his own power. He'd turned his back on that which he should have trusted, rejected the One he should have depended on. He could not release his eyes from hers. They called to him, but to what? His resolve melted away and he lowered his sword. He needed help, but he'd turned away from the Help he really needed, so what option did he have?
Then something penetrated the icy apparition. He watched in confusion as the Witch leaned back and suddenly the ice – and his hardened heart – shattered. His eyes rested on the form of his brother, sword up and eyes turned away. Edmund then met his gaze steadily.
"I know: you had it sorted."
Edmund walked away, leaving him to stare upon the carved figure beyond the icy pillars. He looked into the eyes and was gripped by the full force of what he'd nearly done. Yet, in those eyes, he did not read wrath, but forgiveness wreathed with sadness. Stunned, he sank onto the steps leading to the broken Stone behind him when the room was emptied. He was still there some hours later when Lucy, his quiet comforter, found him.
"You're lucky, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"To have seen Him. I wish He would have just given me some sort of proof."
Something, anything, would have sufficed. He was willing to accept any proof should it come his way. But what had he been given? Only Lucy's word of His appearance in the wood. And yet… what other proof did he need? It was there in front of him all the time. Lucy was a reliable eye-witness. Her belief had led her to see the Lion. And when they journeyed His way, they made it through. Perhaps that was all the proof he needed after all.
"Maybe we're the ones who need to prove ourselves to Him."
She rubbed her hand on his arm with assuring peace. No, he didn't need proof from Aslan. Aslan had proved Himself faithful. He, on the other hand, had not been so faithful. The best way to prove his allegiance would be to give Him his full trust and loyalty.
With this new resolve and the Telmarine army upon them, the moment for him to prove his loyalty for Aslan had just arrived.
...
"For Aslan!"
He had sent Lucy to seek Aslan. He knew that there was no winning anything without Aslan to reign victorious. The duel had sorely tried him and the battle seemed lost, but still he fought, trusting and in hope of Aslan's aid. He was heartened mightily when great oaks joined the fray. In having proved himself to Aslan, Aslan had proven Himself again. Aslan called up the one who dwelt in the river to bring the battle to an end. The high king come out of the past approached the King over all High Kings and knelt humble before Him.
"Rise, kings and queen of Narnia."
Forgiveness, love, and favour were in his voice and power, majesty, and awesome glory in his presence. He felt grace wash over him like an ocean wave: grace that enabled him to stand tall and return the Lion's gaze.
"All of you."
"I do not think I am ready."
"It is for that very reason I know you are."
He knew that feeling. He had been there once: a boy suddenly thrust into authority and responsibility. And back then, he hadn't felt adequate for the task either. That was before he'd had to re-learn humility. Caspian stood, uncertain, and glanced first at Edmund, then at him. He offered a slight smile to the new king. Yes, he knew. And now he understood that it was his place not to relive the past but to encourage Caspian for the future.
"I am completely out of countenance!"
"Perhaps you think too much of your honour, friend."
It didn't matter that Aslan was addressing the valiant Mouse before Him. He felt the force of those words as well. His wrongs threatened to flood his mind again when Aslan spoke again.
"Not for the sake of your dignity..."
Grace dammed the flood of wrongs and filled his heart with a torrent of its own. He had been willing to accept the fact that he was no longer a king. He would have expected minimal recognition for his role but for the choices he'd made. He had learned to step down and let another take the lead. And yet, he'd been restored. Not for the sake of his dignity, but for the glory of the One who extended His grace to him.
"Do you see him now?"
Oh, yes, he saw. He saw and believed. The Lion let loose a mighty roar: a wonderful reminder that He is very real.
...
"All things have their time. Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it's time for them to live in their own."
He had learned all right. Lion's mane, he had learned. Some lessons had been harder to swallow than others, certainly, but he had a gracious Teacher. He had learned humility, true leadership, and faith in the One though he could not always see Him. And he was determined to hang on to those lessons this time around.
"It's all right, Lu. It's not how I thought it would be. But it's all right. One day you'll see too."
He gazed at Narnia one last time. The deep wells of Aslan's eyes seared themselves into his memory. The doorway in the twisted oak gave way to a subway tunnel. He was back in England. But this time, he did not return a boy proud of his kingship or abilities. He boarded the train and the doors closed as he realized that this was home for now. Only this time, he had faith in the One unseen.
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